Staircases
by neverluck
Summary: After all they'd been through, her newest adversary was this. Staircases. Mild-AU.


**Short Author's Note**: First off, it's kind of scary to post my first story, as short as it is. I always figured if I actually wrote something to post, it'd be much like the long, chaptered stories I prefer to read. But alas, this is what my mind conjured at 1AM.

I took some lightly hinted freedom in modifying the book canon. Proofreading was done myself, along with making up a few silly things to add in. Since I haven't read any extended lore or background books on the series, I could be completely messing stuff up. Please feel free to point out any inconsistencies unrelated to the actual plot.

Constructive criticism is of course appreciated - reviews will just make me happy the story was even read. And I guess I should end with one of these.

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Or rather, I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters. They belong strictly to J.K. Rowling. This odd little plot though is completely mine.

* * *

She hated these stairs.

To the others, it was in odd form. Of all the things to take the brunt of her anger, of which there had been a many great number to choose from over the years, it was the stairs.

Some called her the brightest witch of her age. Now she wouldn't make any claim to such a title. It wasn't her goal or aim upon entering the prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

She just wanted to learn. The whos, the hows, and the whats to name just a bit. The reasons and the logic. In a way that was so unusual to schoolchildren in this day and age, she was simply curious. Of course, she'd come out with much more than that. Childhood adventure didn't quite cover the situations involved in those first few years.

Even in a world of endless possibilities, in the seemingly unexplainable that was magic, there was reason. You swish your wand for that effect and you flick it for this effect. The words, the motion, and the process all brought together with the desire for a particular outcome created their magic. Yet it wasn't random. You didn't just throw your wand arm around with the end result and wah-lah! It happened.

No, even the unknown realm of magic still had its own rules and requirements. There was still logic and reason (not to speak anything of the more practical subjects like History of Magic or Care of Magical Creatures). Students didn't just learn the process, but also the why. Why this word works with this wand movement to create that spell. A never ending journey for the curious.

Why even potions followed that standard! No one would ever intentionally mix ground dragon scales with unicorn blood (assuming they could acquire it freely given) without a stabilizing agent such as ash winder eggs. It meant there were definite answers to be had and means to measure your knowledge, unlike the less concrete Divination or for the more Muggle students, Philosophy.

Which is why these staircases brought about her dismay. As a bright eyed first year student, the magic of moving staircases had been just that. Magic. At one point, when the halls of the school had been a battleground and her survival had relied solely on the ability to navigate the corridors of this ancient castle better than her enemies, these stairways had been immensely helpful. Her continued existence proved that. But now, years later, as she was preparing to journey into her seventh and final year of schooling (with no battles left to be fought besides over the last of the treacle tart, thank you very much) they were a nuisance.

Because there was no reason. Unlike some of the disappearing doors and patrolling suits of armor that followed routes and time schedules (on specific days of the week - most often Mondays and every other Thursday), there was no pattern to the moving staircases.

It was so _frustrating_.

Anything else nearly anywhere else in the world and she could apply maths and variables and reason to create a logical pattern. She could predict how and when the stupid stairs would move. But no matter how much research or observation she put into this project, there appeared to be no way to do so. Nothing in _Hogwarts, A History_ gave attention to in what manner determined how the silly stairways moved. Even noting where they went, how often, and in what frequency had proved fruitless. No rhyme or reason to be found.

The boys thought she had latched onto something unreasonable again. Her house, while supportive, believed she was bonkers, as usual. And the rest of the school never really understood her to begin with, except the Ravenclaws on occasion. But she had proven her worth many a time to this house and they were just going to have to deal with this new obsession.

And as the staircase stopped moving, facing the wrong corridor of course, Hermione sighed.


End file.
